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“I’m not. In fact, I like you bent over the table. Just. Like. This.”
And just like that, I missed the purple ball by a hair.
Jackson laughed.
I groaned.
“Well, that was… interesting.” I glared at Ginger’s words and she snapped her mouth shut. “Sorry.”
It wasn’t interesting. Jackson wasn’t even flirting, not really, he just wanted to win the game and that made it worse. It was worse because his phony words sent a flush of warmth through me, as if they were real. As if he meant them.
“Where’s your partner?”
“Righ here.” Antonio Vargas stood behind Ginger looking like he’d rather be anywhere than here, at a bar. Having fun. “My turn.”
“Yep. You’re stripes,” I told him happily.
Antonio looked at the table and raised his eyebrows. “Your handiwork?”
“It’s a team effort,” I told him.
“Sure.” Antonio moved easily for a man his size, like he knew just how to stalk any type of prey before him, rounding the table with intent in his eyes. He lined up a shot and the sound of the balls cracking together was momentarily deafening.
“Nice shot. Might have broken the sound barrier.”
He stared at me for a long moment and then laughed. “You’re funny.”
“Thanks.” I frowned, unsure how I felt about that compliment. One the one hand, he sounded surprised to an offensive degree; on the other hand, it was a compliment. Wasn’t it?
Antonio missed the next shot and Ginger took her turn, sinking one ball before she sent the cue ball sailing in after the yellow one. “Sorry.”
“No problem. Detective Slater here is gonna show us all how it’s done. Aren’t you?”
He glared over his shoulder at me and I smiled. “Damn straight.”
“Go right ahead.”
“I will,” he insisted and notched his chin in the air.
“Go on.”
“I’m lining up my shot,” he said, amusement lining his voice.
“The fourteen ball is easier.”
He glared. “I know.” Yet still he lined up the yellow stripe and sank it easily. “You were saying?”
Jackson was one ball ahead of me, and I didn’t like that at all. “You’ve just made your remaining shots more difficult.”
“I’m not worried.” The words came out easily enough, but he hadn’t looked at the table yet.
“I’ll wait,” I told him and grabbed my glass, finishing off the martini.
“Dammit!” He turned with a glare. “You got in my head.”
“Me? Not possible.” I set the cocktail glass down a little harder than I needed to and grabbed my stick. I got in his head? Like that was even possible for a man who had literally done a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am on someone who lived in his same small town.
Make that very small town.
I sank the next three balls, leaving us each with one ball plus the eight ball. The last ball, the five rolled in easily and I smiled. “No pressure,” Jackson whispered when I walked past him.
“None at all.” When I found the perfect spot, I lined up the shot and sent the white cue ball smashing into the black one before it rolled across the table and into its final resting spot. “Yes!”
“We won!” Ginger squealed and wrapped her arms around me before turning to our opponents. “I believe you offered to buy Reese a drink.”
“He offered to buy both of us drinks,” I insisted.
“He did, but the gorgeous Sheriff just walked in, and I’m gonna go try to sit on his lap,” she fake-whispered and took off before I could even call her a traitor. A deserter.
Antonio sighed in relief. “I’m picking up pizza and wings and going home to my woman. I’m too old for this crap.” He stomped off, sliding his half-full beer into Buddy’s hands as he made his way to the exit.
“And then there were two,” Jackson said with grim satisfaction. “Rematch?”
“Winner buys breakfast on Saturday morning.” I held out my hand, ignoring the shot of electricity when his much bigger hand engulfed mine and he applied the smallest amount of pressure.
“You’re on. I’m breaking.”
“Good. It’s the only balls you’ll get a chance to sink this round.”
He turned to look at me, his hazel eyes filled with mischief and a kind of intense heat that I actually felt on my skin. “Game on.”
Indeed.* * *No matter how many times I was forced to get up before the sun rose, it always felt unnatural. Like an alien was invading my body and trying to turn me into a dreaded morning person.
But this was the morning of the first leg of the countywide cook-off and the start of a very hectic month. Which meant I needed the coffee to work better than it ever had before. A second cup would help, right? Probably not, but I was desperate and nervous and trying to get my emotions under control before Jackson showed up. He was probably a morning person, he seemed like the kind of guy who smiled as he walked into the office, five minutes early. On a Monday morning. Ugh.
